


The Witch of the Sky

by oneill



Category: Demon's Souls
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneill/pseuds/oneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the fic_promptly prompt: Any, any, The Story of a Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Witch of the Sky

"Is it true what they say, Uncle?" Ariona asked when Rydell called a break from his training. He sat and hauled off his boots to cool his feet in the clear waters that ran past the Tower of the Opalescent Serpent.

Rydell sat beside him, passing over a handful of full moon grass. "What are they saying, now?"

"That you stole your rod from the witch of the sky."

"Ah." Rydell clamped a stalk of grass between his teeth. After a long pause, he said, "Her domain may be in the sky, at that. For all I know, it could be at the bottom of the sea, or in the heart of a mountain, or far beyond the stars. I never set foot outside her tower. I don't know that you can."

"Eh? But how did you get to her tower, if you never . . . if you . . ." Ariona frowned, unable to find the words for this impossible thing.

Rydell would not look at him. His eyes were on the shifting slivers of sky that winked in the canopy above them. Ariona knew that silence, and that it meant Rydell was trimming pieces from his story and stitching the gaps closed.

"A voice led me there," Rydell said at last.

"Not the witch's?"

"A child's, I think. Or at least something that took a child's form."

"So it was a trap?"

"Well, now. I think you may be right about that."

A servant arrived then, bearing a tray of soft cheeses, sliced apples and sugar melons, and three small pots of fresh-mixed mustard that smelled sharply and pleasantly of verjuice. The basket on the crook of her arm produced two long, lean loaves of crusty bread, knives, lavender-scented napkins, beer for Rydell, and watered wine for Ariona. Rydell stood to relieve her of her burden, seeming grateful for the interruption.

Once they had settled into their meal, however, Ariona doggedly asked, "Did the witch attack you, then? When you reached the tower?"

"I was a reckless youth, and more than a little cruel," Rydell said, seeming not to hear him. He reached out to tousle Ariona's hair. "Not a good lad like you, though I suppose that much is obvious even now. No, the witch did not attack me. When she turned away to light a candle, I drew my rapier and ran her through."

Ariona gasped. Rydell nodded.

"She was so peaceful, so gentle, and overflowing with power. She felt just like the tower itself. It infuriated me."

"And that's how you took her rod?"

"No. I could only stand there after that. Her death shocked me more than anything--a single thrust reduced her to a pile of rags at my feet. Then, while I stood there, staring, she rose again."

A satisfying shiver of terror raced down Ariona's spine. Now would come the nightmarish battle that revealed the witch's true nature, which his uncle had survived--not only survived, but conquered. "And then what?" he asked.

"She apologized." Rydell's eyes grew distant once more, his voice so quiet Ariona could barely hear him above the murmur of the river. "She apologized for being unable to die, and then she offered me the pole that she used to light the candles. It transformed as I took it in hand, the brass becoming blue crystal and carved wood, the flame a gemstone, but when I looked up, the witch was holding her pole aloft to light the candles once more. I returned home after that, as quickly as my legs would carry me."

"But how? Without setting foot outside the witch's tower, I mean."

"Some ancient magic connects the witch's tower to the rest of the world. One of the portals leads right here to Latria. Can you imagine that? Here in Latria, all along, but I couldn't see it until then."

Ariona looked up at his uncle's face, hoping to follow his gaze to the portal's location (one of the towers, surely?), but Rydell's eyes were fixed on his own shaking hands, on the iron-grey ring that he wore beside his wedding band.

"Those who have entered the witch's domain can return at any time," Rydell said. He ran the pad of his thumb over the dark, crudely wrought surface of the ring. "From anywhere in the world. It calls to them."

"Did you ever go back, Uncle?" Ariona asked, though he was already certain of the answer.

"Never." Rydell clasped his hands together, as though in supplication. "Nor will I. Not even to save my life."


End file.
